Witch Fight
by backseat compromises
Summary: Austria, a witch, enters into a carnal pact with his new familiar, Prussia so as to participate in the War Games. He looks for the familiar he let slip away which turns out to be Germany, now bound to a powerful, reclusive witch named England...
1. prologue

The moon is bright, blue and _fool_ tonight. He smiles to himself, violet eyes gleaming underneath his spectacles as he loads his rifle methodically, keeping his eyes locked on the ground. He is about a hundred feet above ground, crouched in the same position for the past three hours waiting for the right moment to strike and when a shadow falls across the village square, his breath hitches as he squeezes his left eye shut, taking aim.

There is a shrill cry as a bullet hits the creature. For a moment, it thrashes around wildly, struggling in pain before its body starts glowing.

He leaps off the tower and lands beside the creature with ease. "Creature," his voice is a low whisper and with a loud bang, the glowing orb of silver light is transformed into a gaunt looking albino, blood dripping from his fangs, crimson eyes ravenous and hungry.

"Fuck you," the albino snarls. "I have a name, _witch_," it spits at him, which he steps aside to avoid.

"Of course," he nods, pulling his hood back to reveal his face. His skin is like alabaster in the pale moonlight, cheekbones high and his hair is a glossy brown. The dull green circle underneath his left eye flickers to life and the albino roars as he raises his hand.

"Prussia," the creature barely manages to speak before coughing out blood. A blue sapphire on its tongue catches his eye and they glow in recognition. _So Prussia is of the same breed as the one I let slip away yesterday_, he muses as he looks straight into Prussia's eyes.

He reaches for the albino's jaw and his long, slender fingers close around it effortlessly as Prussia remains immobilised, chained by his power to the ground. He captures his lips in a kiss, forcing his tongue into his mouth, touching the tip of his tongue to Prussia's blue sapphire. When he breaks the kiss, Prussia is reduced to a whimpering mess on the ground.

The brunette removes his cloak and throws it to Prussia. "Cover yourself. As my familiar, your nakedness is very unbecoming."

The albino grabs the cloak hastily, cheeks burning, horrified by his sudden submissiveness.

"And one more thing. I don't think we'll want anyone joining us on our little trip, do we?" Austria asks, looking pointedly at the ground. "If you use your tongue, I suppose we'll be off soon enough."

Prussia looks at the ground and is mortified to find that he spilled his seed all over just from Austria kissing him. _Hard._

_

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_**a/n: **yes, you read this off the kink meme. http : / / hetalia-kink . livejournal . com / 18439 . html ? thread = 61489415 **reviews are love and are greatly appreciated!**


	2. chapter one

**a/n:** thank you **Daisies **and **Tamer Lorika **for your lovely reviews! Oh and yes, _fool_ moon is an intended misspelling that will be explained soon.

* * *

Prussia feels absurdly helpless in his human form. A shiver goes down his spine as he observes Austria's finely shaped ass. The brunette walks in front of him and the navy blue material of his trousers cling to his hips and derrière, leaving little to the imagination.

"You like what you see?" Austria asks, disrupting Prussia's train of thought and he gulps nervously.

"I wasn't looking at anything in particular," Prussia replies defensively and it is painfully obvious that he's lying.

"Oh really," the brunette smiles as he heads toward a darkened alleyway. The town is deserted because the water in the wells have run dry so he isn't too worried about any one finding them. At least, _not yet_.

Prussia follows the violet eyed witch, shifting uneasily underneath the cloak. He feels weak and it's not from being in his human form, but rather, from fighting that goddamned powerful blonde familiar and barely escaping with his life. Austria pushes him against the cold stone wall and he grunts, knees feeling slightly shaky.

"Prussia," Austria snaps his fingers and from out of nowhere, something that looks like a table in the darkness appears and the brunette helps the albino on to it. He reaches for his trusty rifle and with a smirk, presses it to the his familiar's lips. "Slick this up."

The albino looks at him, horrified as ropes magically find their way around his wrists, binding them together. He feels his head starting to spin and complies slowly, licking the cool metal, taking it in his mouth, not even thinking about how dangerous it was because it was _loaded_.

Austria removes the rifle when he finds that it has been slicked up enough and tugs at the string of the cloak, throwing it aside. Prussia gives out a soft cry as the cold assaults his bare skin and the brunette pushes his legs apart, finding the albino's entrance, pushing the rifle forward slowly into the tight ring of muscle as he moans, muttering a string of incoherent words, begging the violet eyed witch to move faster as he withdraws it. When the brunette rams the rifle up his ass again, Prussia's hips jerk forward, cock desperately seeking the friction needed to send him over the edge as the muzzle of the rifle hits his prostate.

"Suck me off," Austria orders, holding the rifle in place, stopping a few millimetres shy of Prussia's prostate.

Prussia moans and shifts his hips but it is useless, with his wrists bound, there is no way he can move... Nor shapeshift. He hates how Austria saw that coming and when the brunette presses his cock to the albino's lips, he gives a startled cry and taking the opportunity, the violet eyed man forces his jaw wide open and thrusts into his mouth. The albino's first instinct is to bite down on the appendage but the brunette's fingers on his jaw prevent him from doing so. Austria pushes the rifle in a little more and it hits that sweet spot within Prussia and he moans, delicious vibrations causing the brunette to moan as well.

"Prussia," Austria groans as the albino slides his tongue, rubbing against the underside of his cock. "Do not forget that the rifle is loaded."

Prussia's crimson eyes flash with fear as Austria withdraws from his mouth. The rifle was loaded, if the brunette fired and he would be fatally injured - it didn't matter if his fingers were on the trigger or not, witches could manipulate just about anything with magic - but all that had been loaded in that rifle were magical bullets meant to bind... Right? Strangely, Prussia feels himself getting more aroused by the thought - hasn't he always loved the thrill? - as the brunette's cock leaves his mouth. His presses his tongue to the violet eyed witch's slit, licking slowly, then quickly and engulfs the appendage in his mouth again.

Austria thrusts hard and fast into the wet heat of Prussia's mouth. How long has it been since he has felt this good? He cannot remember but it doesn't matter becau-

The albino almost gags as the brunette goes over the edge.

"Swallow," Austria commands and Prussia complies because there is no other way about it. He yelps as he feels Austria's power filling him and warmth spreads over him. The violet eyed witch withdraws the rifle and pushes it in again repeatedly, hitting the albino's sweet spot and he reaches for Prussia's cock. With a few haphazard strokes, the albino climaxes with a soft cry as his world fades slowly to black.

* * *

After a while, Prussia stirs, finding himself in Austria's arms. They are in a room without a window, a solitary candle lighting it as Austria strokes his hair. He looks up at the brunette, eyes narrowed and the violet eyed witch sighs.

"You were injured. How did it happen?"

Prussia tries to remove himself from Austria's embrace but he finds himself too tired to do so.

"Rest," Austria says softly. "I shall restore your power tomorrow and you will tell me about it then."

* * *

"Show yourself," England's voice is monotonous as he stares into the darkness. He's sitting on a plush chair that he obtained some hundred years back - they called it Busby's Chair and said it was cursed but strangely, it seemed to bring him good luck - and his legs are crossed as he sips some tea.

America emerges from the shadows with a wry smile on his lips. "So I couldn't hide," he walks closer and England rolls his eyes.

"Bloody fool," England walks over to America and reaches to caress his cheek. "You're hurt. What happened?"

The strawberry blonde winces as England's thumb brushes across a small wound. "Canada's taken," he speaks with contempt as England raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "The bitch became someone's familiar and attacked me," America sees a spot of soft skin on England's neck, hidden just by his collar and he groans, willing the hunger to contain itself.

"I see," England mutters, distracted. He knows the time has come for him, the mere fact that the familiar that had served him for the last thousand years had died was proof of it. He shivers as he thinks of how he has hidden himself from the War Games all these years. With a new familiar, he has to take part...

"England?" America asks and the sandy blonde jumps, awakened from his reverie. Somehow something about England looks strange to him tonight. It isn't just about how appealing he usually looks, his skin has an unearthly glow that makes America's mouth water because he looks so _delicious_... He feels his fangs extending as he struggles to fight against the hunger - _damn that Canada, how the fuck did he get so powerful?_ - but the way England's soft pink lips are parted makes it an impossible task.

The emerald eyed witch turns to America and smiles. "Suck me," he undoes his trousers and the strawberry blonde stares at him, confused.

"But England, I-" America begins to protest but England cuts him off.

"If you're going to complain about how you're not my familiar and how you shouldn't be taking anything from me, do remember that it's your fault because you were a sodding git and insisted that becoming my familiar meant you were becoming my servant," England speaks as if he's talking about something as mundane as the weather as he pushes America down to his knees. "And if you're going to ask if I'm afraid that you'll eat me, my answer is no. I trust you."

America stays quiet as he processes England's words and stares at the sandy blonde's erection, feeling the hunger scream at him to take England, take everything he had to offer, to take-

England presses his cock to America's lips and the strawberry blonde finds all rational thought leaving his head, except for the lone sentence of _I must not eat England_. Which is rather ironic, given how he is going to eat him anyway, metaphorically speaking.

America touches his tongue to the tip of England's cock, swirling it, dipping his tongue in the sandy blonde's already leaking slit. The taste of the emerald eyed witch is intoxicating and soon America finds himself sucking at the appendage, taking more into his mouth, using his tongue to create more friction before returning to the tip, alternating between flicking his tongue over it and using his rough fingertips to tease it.

It isn't long before England spills his seed in America's mouth with a soft, muffled cry. The strawberry blonde fights hard against his reflex to bite down as he swallows and feels his hunger being satiated slowly, reassuringly in a way that was distinctively England.

England pulls out after a while and rights his clothing while America stays quivering on the ground. "Better?" he asks, breathing heavily and the strawberry blonde nods numbly.

"I didn't have to take your power," America examines the ground as if it's the most interesting thing ever and the words 'to satisfy my hunger' linger in the air, unsaid.

The sandy blonde shrugs. "You're here now, aren't you?" he asks and America sighs. "Besides, I've taken enough power from you. It's time I gave you something in return."

"You could've given me your blood then," the strawberry blonde says drily, knowing fully well that with blood, they ran a higher risk for he might accidentally (on purpose?) suck the witch dry.

"Of course," England nods. "Just like how you could've given me yours."

America doesn't reply as he thinks of how he keeps going to England to give him power, how each time he climaxes within the emerald eyed witch, he gives him a part of him because he doesn't want him to forget him and because the power that comes from feeding is overwhelming. It pushes him to the brink of insanity and he thinks that it is a miracle that he's still alive and England, he takes, he takes and he takes because America can give and needs to give. Sometimes, the strawberry blonde wonders if like him, the witch is too, insatiable but most of the time, he wonders how long can England take it. He tries to be gentle each time they fuck - it can't be called anything else - but most of the time the thrill of having fed and needing to have to feed again makes him forget. He thinks of how soon, the hunger will return and he thinks of Canada. Canada, his beloved brother. He has never seen the hunger in Canada's eyes before, because he suppresses the hunger well, very well. And yet when he attacked him, the feral look in his blue eyes told him that he was starving...

"I think Canada's witch is raping him," the strawberry blonde looks up at England.

The sandy blonde holds his gaze, waiting for him to continue.

"The witch feeds him, then milks him until he's dry only to force him to feed again. He's taking his power away," America's voice is reduced to a quiet whisper, knowing what will happen to Canada if the cycle continued.

England doesn't ask how America knows. The strawberry blonde knows only because he has experimented with his brother without his permission, with disastrous consequences. America reaches for England's hand and holds it. The contact is brief as he squeezes his hand.

"England," America bites his lip. "Will you help me find him?"

The emerald eyed witch nods. "I will, America," he looks out of the window, observing the still _fool_ moon. "Now go, before my familiar wakes."

The strawberry blonde obeys, feeling the hunger scream at him to feed it by eating England and he pushes it down and beats it back to the dark corners of his mind.

America has to feed soon, again, but with England's powers rushing through his veins, he can wait, at least, for a little while, even with a _fool_ moon. Because America is a wendingo, and so is Canada.

* * *

**a/n: **well uhhhh basically sex and blood is a way of transmitting power. **review?**


	3. chapter two

**a/n: **thank you **Daisies**, **minoki** and **Tamer Lorika** for the lovely reviews! to Daises - i've edited the front part, sleep addled brain confuses the muzzle with the butt and i use british english (my country's part of the commonwealth), idk if the blonde thingy is correct or not...

* * *

Prussia wakes up with a start, finding himself still in his human form, stark naked, clinging on to Austria for dear life.

Austria straightens his spectacles as he looks at the albino with a bemused expression on his face. He reaches for a cup of crimson liquid and hands it to his familiar. "Drink this."

Prussia eyes the cup skeptically but nonetheless, takes it from the brunette and downs it in a few gulps. It tastes sweet and bitter at the same time and the albino wonders what it is as he feels the sharp sting of the pain from his injuries disappear. He looks at the violet eyed witch, who smiles serenely as he takes the cup back.

"Ready to tell me about what happened?" the brunette asks.

"Why did you pick me?"

Austria blinks and pauses for a moment. "As a familiar?"

"Of course," Prussia replies irritably. He tells himself that the answer is obvious, it is because of his incredible awesomeness but he knows how pathetic it sounds in reality, given his injured state when Austria bound him.

"Does it matter?" the violet eyed witch's eyes grow a shade darker. Prussia notices the change in atmosphere and he shivers but nonetheless, he doesn't change the subject, so Austria does. "I need to participate in the War Games."

"The War Games?" Prussia asks, uncertain.

"Your injury hasn't healed enough?" Austria raises an eyebrow.

"It has. A wendingo attacked me," Prussia says sullenly, thinking of how from out of nowhere, something pounced onto him and took a large bite of his back. He barely managed to escape with the rest of himself intact - a hungry wendingo was the last thing an injured wolf could fight against - but the entire incident shocked him. He had always been the alert one in his pack before he broke away with his brother, so how could he have not noticed the creature's presence? And then there was his brother. Prussia wonders how he could've let someone capture him so easily but yet... He had always known that the day would come for them to part, to become a witch's familiar but alas, parting was such sweet sorrow. "The wendingo was someone's familiar," the albino continues, looking away.

Austria frowns. "Well. You _do_ know what the War Games are about, don't you?"

"What are you fighting for?"

"The right to die."

Prussia freezes in shock. "Y-you..."

"Some people join the War Games just to feel pain, because after each millennium, it becomes the only way they can. Some join to become more powerful. Some join because they have no choice, with a new familiar, they are duty bound to prove their worth," Austria takes a deep breath. "I join because I want the prize. Witches cannot die, but with the prize, I can."

"But what about your bond with me?" Prussia asks in disbelief.

"It will be broken. You may go free after that."

"But that's-"

"After a few millenniums, you realise that eternity isn't as great as the stories make it out to be. I'm tired of this vicious cycle. It is now time for me to rest."

Prussia grits his teeth in frustration. "How could you not want to live?"

Austria laughs and his laughter reverberates in the air. It sounds sparkly and it shines in the silence but at the same time, it sounds so terribly lonely that Prussia finds himself wrapping his arms around the brunette to offer him warmth. Maybe, just maybe, if he could fill that hole created by years of solitude within the brunette's heart...

"What are you doing," Austria demands sharply.

"I don't want you to die," Prussia says slowly and continues before Austria can reply. "It isn't about some selfish reason like me proving my worth as a familiar or me wanting the power that comes with being one. It's just that..."

"That what?" Austria's eyes narrow slightly. "Don't make it sound as if you have any noble intentions about wanting me to live on. What do you know about me. Nothing. Nothing at all. Who are you to force your desires upon me?"

"What's your name?"

Austria stares at Prussia incredulously. "Austria," he says after a while.

"Austria," Prussia repeats the violet eyed witch's name, savouring how it sounded when he pronounced it.

Austria finds his cheeks flushing red as he realises that indeed, he likes the way his name sounds on his familiar's lips.

"I don't know anything about you. But I _will_ get to know you. Most of all, I _am_ your familiar," the albino says ruefully. "And I hope that when the time comes, that will be enough to change your mind."

* * *

England looks out of the window, admiring the _fool_ moon. It comes only when the War Games are about to begin, when the moon would be blue and radiate heat, causing the hunger within creatures such as the wendingo to overwhelm them easily. His thoughts drift to relationship with America and he sighs.

The emerald eyed witch found America slightly more than a millennium ago, before he had acquired a familiar. In a field of wild flowers, he found a golden haired child who looked a little younger than him. He took him home, only to find that the child was not quite a child, but a wendingo, which was the best and the worst creature any witch could have as a familiar. It constantly needed to feed and if the witch was not powerful enough, they would never be equals so England never tried to make America his familiar, fearing the consequences. Over the years, as they grew closer, the strawberry blonde introduced England to Canada, his brother who the sandy blonde could never quite remember, and finally, the emerald eyed witch decided that to hell with the consequences - he needed to be with America no matter what - but he had refused, accusing England of looking down on him and treating him as a lesser being. After that, America left, never visiting him again, until _that_ night.

England feels a wave of arousal sweep across him as he thinks of _that_ night, of the unbridled lust in America's eyes as he appeared before him and of how he took him roughly, mixing pain with pleasure. He can still recall the orgasmic high brought about by his climax and along with the transfusion of power... England shivers as he reaches for the clasp of his trousers when he hears the sound of footsteps.

The emerald eyed witch turns around, coming face to face with his new familiar.

"You are..." Germany begins, unsure of what to say.

"My name is England," the sandy blonde looks at Germany, examining his muscular build. "We will be participating in the War Games," he says simply.

Germany nods. "Is there anything I must do for now?"

England is about to shake his head before an idea strikes him. He pulls his familiar close and brushes his lips against his. He trails his tongue along Germany's lower lip and his familiar moans, giving him access to his mouth. England touches his tongue to Germany's and finds that dominating his familiar is no easy task, which arouses him further. He breaks the kiss and leads a rather confused Germany to one of his bedrooms.

"What are you-"

"Hush, love," England whispers. "We must consummate our carnal pact," he divests Germany of his clothes easily, kissing him on the lips again before going lower to lick at his collarbone, nipping at the sensitive skin. Germany moans, arching forward as the emerald eyed witch uncorks a bottle of scented oil, coating his fingers with them as his tongue teases a dusty pink nipple. England's fingers reach for Germany's entrance and when he pushes one in, his familiar cries out as he goes down on him, taking his length into his mouth. Another digit enters, stretching, hitting Germany's sweet spot as England reaches to prepare himself, spreading a generous amount of oil over his erection.

England enters Germany slowly even though all he wants to do is to bury himself in to the hilt. His familiar's hot, tight heat is drawing him in and although Germany doesn't seem to understand what is going on, the way his hips buck forward involuntarily, seeking friction, is enough to tell the sandy blonde that he _is_ enjoying it despite the slight discomfort. England thrusts forward, increasing his speed with each stroke, hitting Germany's prostate as he wraps his fingers around his familiar's cock, feathery touches bringing him to completion as the emerald eyed witch's release slams into him.

As England's power fills Germany while he basks in the afterglow of his climax, his familiar turns to the sandy blonde, bewildered by the foreign sensation.

"It's alright, love," England reassures him as he holds him close and within moments, Germany drifts off to sleep while the emerald eyed witch stares at the ceiling, deep in contemplation.

England wonders if he's using Germany as a substitute for America.

* * *

America thinks of Canada and wonders how anyone could torture such a gentle soul and push him repeatedly to the brink of insanity. Canada, like him, was always hungry but unlike him, he suppressed it well, letting it eat at him instead of eating others. He remembers how one evening, when the wind was cool and the both of them were lying in the tall grass beside a river with beautiful, clear waters, he reached for his brother in curiosity. He had always been fascinated by how Canada had no reaction to anyone or anything and exploring another's body was something that he had no prior knowledge of, so he decided that experimenting with his brother while he was asleep was the best way to get what he wanted.

The strawberry blonde remembers how his heart started beating faster as he removed Canada's clothes and how when he brushed his fingers across his brother's cock, slowly, it grew harder as he continued stroking. A small bead of moisture formed at the tip and hesitantly, he touched the tip of his tongue to the leaking slit as his fingers explored Canada's hardened length.

Canada tasted weird to him, an odd mixture of things he couldn't exactly name. He swirled his tongue on the tip before leaving it to rub his tongue against the underside, going lower until he found Canada's entrance. He flicked his tongue across it as he caressed his brother's cock. When he licked a heated trail back up to the tip again, Canada moaned in his sleep, hips jerking forward involuntarily as America slipped a finger into his entrance, probing gently. The strawberry blonde's fingertip found Canada's prostate unknowingly and when he pressed against it, he came, shuddering as America swallowed his seed, relishing the taste as power overwhelmed him.

Canada woke up with a start, feeling as if a part of him had been taken away and his hunger screamed at him to feed, to take as much as he can from anything when he saw America writhing on the ground, unable to control the sudden influx of power. Looking down at his naked form, he realised what his brother had done and with a howl, he fled, letting the urge to hunt and most importantly, to _feed_, fill him.

That night, America fucked England for the first time.

Sometimes, America wishes that he had accepted England's offer back then to become his familiar. Maybe if he did, he wouldn't feel as if his relationship with the emerald eyed witch was something that he needed to hide. He feels as if he is the third party in England's relationship with his familiar and some part of him actually feels _guilty _about how the sandy blonde cares for him. But it is too late for such thoughts and wallowing in self pity is something that never fails to disgust America, so he pushes those feelings of unbearable longing aside as he dives into the sea, hunting for food.

Hours later, America surfaces. The sun has already risen and his hunger is now suppressed. At least, he has enough strength to lock it up somewhere inside so it won't bother him for a while. Even as he hunted and fed, thoughts of a certain emerald eyed witch haunted his mind, causing him to shiver as he shakes the saltwater from his hair. This time, he doesn't need to go to him to get rid of the insanity feeding brings and his stomach churns as he thinks of how he still wants to be useful to England. He wants the sandy blonde to want him too and the need is so strong that it hurt, but he cannot think of any way that will let him have him for his own...

Unless he kills England's new familiar.

* * *

**a/n: **review please?


	4. chapter three

**a/n:** thank you **Daisies**, **spekularyon**, **Tamer Lorika **and **minoki **for your lovely reviews! note of explanation here: even though this is an AU, country names are being used because man, somehow i find the name 'gilbert' not quite serious enough, no idea why, so yup. and man, currently in my head, pairings (apart from Austria/Prussia) can go any way, so yup!

* * *

Canada awakens to find his wrists bound again, just like the day before. And the day before the day before and... He doesn't remember and he doesn't want to remember. He winces as he tests the shackles only to be disappointed, finding that once again, they are bound as tight as before. He is blindfolded and he wonders if the fact that he has yet to see his captor is a good thing. He doesn't like attacking people, he wishes that the hunger would eat him and not drive him to eat others but he knows it is impossible. Perhaps it is this part of him that his captor is seeking to exploit, but he doesn't know for sure. He doesn't even know what is it exactly that his captor wants except that the vicious cycle of being drained of power and being forced to feed again was taking its toll on his sanity.

His thoughts drift to one cool evening by a river, when he felt fingers all over him, teasing him and a hot tongue over him, licking his tip, tracing his slit, threatening to breach the entrance of something that could not be entered by the appendage. He gulps as he thinks of the hot, lingering caress and how his hips jerked forward repeatedly, seeking more contact with the feral heat...

"America," the word is torn from Canada's lips as he feels tears rushing to his eyes. He knows his brother will come for him, he doesn't know when but he just _knows_ he will because America is _America_, but as for whether he would be able to save him... Canada dreads the answer for he knows that he is now his captor's familiar, there is nothing America can do that will allow him to break the bond. He rests his head against the wall of the dungeon, letting the all too familiar sense of resignation to his fate wash over him once again.

"Canada," a husky voice echoes throughout the dungeon and Canada freezes immediately. Panic and fear assaults him at the same time and he finds himself shrinking back against the walls of the dungeon.

France enters the dungeon, taking in the delicious sight of his familiar, wrists chained to the walls, blindfolded, a few thin, red lines snaking across his alabaster abdomen.

"No, please, no," Canada finds himself repeating under his breath as the sound of the footsteps get louder and France's fingers find their way to his jaw, lifting his chin upwards.

"Ah, mon petit lapin. You complain too much," France's voice drops a notch lower as he bends lower. His fingers wander about his familiar's bare skin, finding his nipples, rubbing against it before spreading Canada's legs apart with the jerk of a knee and he cries out as a rough fingertip finds his entrance. The digit enters him slowly, easing past the tight ring of muscle.

"You're already so wet and ready for me," France's breath on Canada's earlobe feels like scalding hot water poured on his skin. He pulls his finger out of his familiar and forces his mouth open without warning, pushing the finger in. Canada starts licking the digit, slicking it up without being told to do so because he knows that if the finger was lubricated, it wouldn't hurt as much when France puts it in again. "So you really like the taste of me inside you," he laughs and Canada shivers, wondering how such beautiful laughter could be filled with so much cruelty. France removes his finger and Canada braces himself, holding his breath without knowing it but it never comes. Instead, France positions the tip of his cock at Canada's entrance and in a single thrust, sheathes himself within his familiar.

Canada opens his mouth to scream but instead, France thrusts his tongue into the wet heat, movement of the appendage mimicking his thrusting. Sometimes he hits Canada's prostate, making him moan in pleasure. Most of the time, it just hurts. There's a tiny piece of rope tied around his cock, making his release something that takes forever to come and without any stimulation, without the friction... Canada tries to bring back the memory of America going down on him when France hits that magic spot within him again, _again and again and again and again, oh it feels so good_ and suddenly he pulls out, causing Canada to whimper from the loss of contact only to be met with the sickening sensation of hot liquid spilling all over his face, overwhelming him.

"Ahh, mon petit lapin," France purrs. "You look magnificent."

Canada whimpers, cheeks burning from the humiliation, but he doesn't speak. He has learned not to reply, because if he keeps his mouth shut, the suffering will be over in a matter of seconds before the hunger takes over. When it happens, he doesn't have to think, he doesn't have to remember, he can forget...

"Beg, mon cheri," France murmurs, voice low and seductive. His fingertips ghost over Canada's aching cock, barely touching the sensitive tip.

"Please," Canada whispers, broken. "Please, please, _pleasepleaseplease_," his voice is reduced to a soft, whining sound, desperately seeking the moment when his mind will go blank as France brings him to completion, mouth covering the appendage, tongue swirling over it, sucking, draining him.

France's lips leave Canada after a while, smiling in satisfaction. Canada's blindfold is removed and his eyes are now glassy, the colour of midnight blue as he shifts restlessly against his bonds, eagerly awaiting the hunt. With a snap of his fingers, the shackles holding Canada down fall apart.

"Now go feed, mon petit lapin."

* * *

Germany rests his head on England's lap as the emerald eyed witch runs his fingers through his familiar's hair. The sandy blonde watches the flames in the fireplace lick at the logs, consuming each one slowly but surely and he thinks of America... And Canada. He doesn't remember much about America's brother, except that the lad was rather shy, behaviour completely incongruent with him being a wendingo. Who could have taken a wendingo like him as a familiar? Unless the witch was out of his or her mind, of course. England shudders as he thinks of how the balance of power between witch and familiar could easily be upset and finds himself thinking of how America rejected his offer to be his familiar, as well as how he came back to him _that _ night. This time, the memory is hardly pleasant and England sighs again, causing Germany to look up at him, a questioning expression in his blue eyes.

"Is something the matter?" Germany asks and England wonders why he took a familiar without even considering America for it, but there is something about Germany that stirs up an odd, inexplicable feeling in his heart...

"No, there isn't," England shakes his head. Germany knows that he is lying but does not press the issue. "Say, love. Have you ever heard of the War Games?" the sandy blonde asks, staring at the flames again.

Germany shrugs. "Vaguely. Brother talked about participating in it once though," he finds himself saying before he can stop himself.

"Brother?" England raises an eyebrow.

Germany shifts uneasily. "I have a brother. He wasn't anyone's familiar, but now I'm not sure..." he trails off.

England nods slowly, waiting for Germany to continue.

"If its possible, I'd like to look for him," his familiar says slowly. "That is, only if it's fine with you," he adds hastily.

The sandy blonde wonders why he has an affinity with magical creatures with siblings. "Of course," he smiles wryly to himself. "As long as we find him before the Games begin."

"What will we be doing in the Games?"

"Witches start with one card each. They are allowed to fight, or duel, with anyone they choose and once a fight begins, neither side may walk away. When a witch loses, he or she must give up all the cards he or she has in his or her possession," England explains. "To advance to the next round of the Games, a witch must collect a specific amount of cards. This will go on until one witch comes into possession of all the cards distributed at the start of the Games, where he or she will thus be declared the winner."

"Do you have your eye on the prize?" Germany cocks his head to the right.

England laughs and shakes his head. "No, but I don't have any intention of losing."

"I see," Germany rests his head on the emerald eyed witch's lap again, causing England's breath to hitch. His familiar's head is pressed a little too close to a certain area... He sucks in his breath as Germany moves ever so slightly. Germany frowns, noticing how the sandy blonde has stilled beneath him. "England?" he asks softly.

"Could you shift your head a little?" England manages weakly as Germany shifts again, except it isn't quite the way he wants him to.

Germany's cheek comes to rest against England's arousal, causing the sandy blonde to moan. Realisation dawns on him as he undoes the fastenings on the emerald eyed witch's trousers with his teeth and England wonders where his familiar learnt how to do things like that. Within seconds, Germany frees the sandy blonde's cock and he settles himself in between his legs, placing his palms on his bare thighs, pulling his trousers lower.

"Germany, wait, you don't-" England begins but when Germany's fingers encircle his tip, the words he wanted to say get stuck in his throat and refuse to come out as his familiar caresses his cock, rubbing against the underside, going lower until his tongue flicks across his entrance, probing. The emerald eyed witch finds himself arching forward as Germany swirls his tongue at his entrance and moans as his familiar drops kisses as he returns to England's cock once more. The sandy blonde slips his hands in Germany's hair, pressing his head closer as his familiar takes him into his mouth, tongue working skilfully, causing England to writhe underneath him in sheer pleasure.

"Germany," England barely manages to speak in between pants. "I'm... Cl-" Germany's fingers apply just the right amount of pressure to the emerald eyed witch's perineum and with a strangled cry, England goes over the edge. When he opens his eyes, he is surprised to find that Germany swallowed his seed. "Germany, you..." he doesn't quite know what to say. His familiar is trembling with power in between his legs, with the same expression he had after the first time and the sandy blonde sighs, reaching forward to stroke his hair once again.

"It's alright," the emerald eyed witch whispers softly. "You'll get used to it."

* * *

Austria enters a small inn with Prussia following close behind.

"Hello," a feminine looking man greets the both of them. "Do you guys want a meal, a room, or both? I'm afraid there's only one room left, so you might have to share," he says worriedly.

"That's fine," Austria nods and the man brightens up immediately. There is something about his aura that creates an unsettling feeling within the brunette, but he can't quite place his finger on what it is...

"Finland," a baritone voice calls out and a tall blonde man appears from seemingly out of nowhere. He turns to look at Austria and Prussia, then looks at Finland again.

"S-Sweden," Finland's cheeks turn pink as he runs to the counter and produces a set of keys. "They're staying the night," he explains.

Sweden looks slightly uncomfortable. "My wife and I apologise for our lack of rooms."

Finland's cheeks flush darker and Prussia looks at the couple, slightly amused.

"This way please," the smaller man leads the violet eyed witch and his familiar down a small hallway to their room.

* * *

"You've been wanting to ask me a question for quite a while now," Sweden addresses Austria as the violet eyed witch enters the tiny bar.

"I'll concede that," the brunette settles down by the bar. "Are you a witch?"

Sweden produces a glass from behind the counter and begins to prepare a drink and Austria feels his lips twitch upwards, for the blonde seems to know what he wants without him asking. "Yes," Sweden answers as he picks out a few bottles, pouring small amounts into a shaker.

"Is Finland not your familiar?"

"He is my wife," Sweden shakes the metal container, brow furrowed in concentration.

"Well," Austria doesn't think there is a suitable reply to Sweden's words, so he shrugs.

"Do you believe in the power of love?" Sweden asks as he hands Austria his drink.

The brunette pauses for a while before his eyebrow twitches in realisation. He takes the drink. "No," he answers.

"To each his own," Sweden nods sagely.

Austria smiles briefly before raising his glass. "To each his own."

* * *

**a/n: **did anyone realise that the title witch fight came from the phrase 'bitch fight'? haha! anyway... **review please?**


	5. chapter four

**a/n: **thank you **Daisies**, **Tamer Lorika**, **ChildOfLily** and **minoki **for your reviews! as for replies, to Daises, uhh, it remains to be seen, to Tamer Lorika, uhh why does UK/Germany amuse you? To ChildOfLily, nope it ain't weird and i hope you like this chapter and to minoki, lol i have someone else in mind. anyway, enjoy this one!

* * *

"You're still weak, aren't you?" Austria asks, holding Prussia close, fingers running through the albino's snowy white locks of hair.

Prussia doesn't answer, burying his face in the crook of violet eyed witch's neck. He hates to admit to his weakness, especially to this... This... This stupid... Aristocrat. Yes, that's it. Aristocrat. Prussia hasn't had much interaction with humans before, because he has spent most of his life in the forest and wilderness with his brother but the word _aristocrat_ seems to be perfect for Austria. From his mannerisms, his delicate way of doing things right down to how he dressed, everything about Austria was so refined that it was almost painful to watch for Prussia.

"Prussia..." Austria whispers as he tilts his familiar's head up slightly, violet orbs boring into crimson ones. Prussia stares right back without flinching, mesmerised by the unreadable depths in those eyes as Austria moves closer until his lips are brushing against his familiar's. "Feed," he whispers as he unbuttons his shirt, throwing his cravat aside, baring his neck.

The albino raises an eyebrow but when there is no answer to his doubts, he obeys, licking at the alabaster skin in tiny circles before sinking his fangs into the delicate flesh.

Austria suppresses the urge to moan as his familiar feeds from him, draining his blood slowly. Prussia's crimson eyes seem to glow with a different, almost deadly sort of energy as he drinks from the violet eyed witch, relishing the taste of the liquid flowing down his throat. "Prussia," Austria lets a moan slip. "You need to, ahh, stop now..."

Prussia doesn't listen as he continues, the brunette's taste was far too intoxicating, there wa-

Prussia was thrown to the other side of the room, blood dripping from his fangs as he looked at Austria confused.

"You were going overboard," Austria explains, cheeks flushed.

The albino nods mutely, not quite understanding what just happened except that his body was humming with power, he felt great, he felt wonderful... And then he notices the bulge in Austria's trousers that he was trying so desperately to hide. "Austria," he gets up from his place on the ground.

"Stay away," Austria says tersely, realising that it is now pointless to hide. He undoes his trousers and frees his cock, tracing circles on the underside before flicking his fingers over his tip, briefly pressing against the slit. His hips buck forward, thrusting into his palm as Prussia watches in fascination while the brunette's fist glides along his cock, stroking himself to completion, spilling white all over his palm.

"Austria," Prussia feels as if he had just climaxed from watching the violet eyed witch touch himself and upon looking down, he finds that indeed, he has.

Austria sighs. "We'll have to clean this up."

* * *

The moon is still bright and _fool_ when England stumbles into the small inn off the beaten track.

"Ah, welcome!" Finland greets from behind the counter and frowns slightly as he notices Germany's presence behind the emerald eyed witch. "I'm sorry, I don't have enough rooms for two..." he looks at the ground apologetically.

"It's fine, I need only one," England nods.

Finland bites his lip. "Um the thing is, we're full for the night, but there'll be a room tomorrow, so if you don't mind-"

"I'll take the couch," England motions to the couch beside the fireplace, where people usually sat, talking to each other in the day.

"S-sure," Finland nods. "I'll get you some fresh towels and things like that, hang on for a bit."

* * *

"WEST!" Prussia screams at the top of his lungs as he jumps up, recognising his brother's scent even in his sleep. He tears out of the room at breakneck speed, nearly colliding with a shocked Finland and when he spots Germany by England's side near the fireplace, he gives a yelp of delight as he runs forward to embrace his brother.

"B-brother," Germany's jaw is hanging open in surprise as England raises his eyebrow at his familiar.

Austria appears behind soon after and he frowns as he catches sight of Prussia hugging Germany, chattering excitedly.

England looks up to see the brunette and offers him a smile, as well as a hand to shake. "I'm England, Germany's my familiar. I assume that he's related to your familiar?"

Austria pauses for a while, realising that Germany was the creature he let slip away. He resists the urge to laugh at how Fate has played its cards as he accepts England's handshake. "Austria. Yes, I suppose Prussia and Germany are related."

The emerald eyed witch nods slowly, thinking of how to break the awkward silence. "You're participating in the War Games?"

The brunette nods. "So are you," he replies and England sighs.

"It isn't like I have a choice," the sandy blonde shrugs.

"I see," Austria watches as Germany fusses over Prussia.

"Do you mind me asking you a personal question?"

Austria raises an eyebrow. "It depends."

"Why do you want to die?"

"Is it written on my face?"

"It might as well be," England turns to peer into the brunette's eyes. "Despair and lack of hope can sometimes be terribly infectious."

"I've lived for far too long," Austria finds England's answer thoroughly unacceptable but doesn't call him up on it. "Immortality can be tiring."

"Especially when you don't have anything good to remember from it," England utters the words that Austria has left unsaid. He smiles, knowing that he has found someone he doesn't mind aiding. An ally in the War Games was infinitely better than an enemy, he reasons. "I will help you, if that is what you truly seek from the Games."

Austria closes his eyes briefly, before opening them again. He doesn't want to make it seem as if he is weak, but there is something about the way England speaks that shows how he is addressing him as an equal, nothing less. "Very well."

* * *

"England," America almost rips the door off its hinges, entering the room. His sapphire eyes are narrowed and his breathing is harsh.

England looks up from his position on the bed, eyebrow twitching. He had just acquired the room from the innkeeper and it wasn't in his best interests to have it wrecked by America. Germany growls, prepared to attack the strawberry blonde if he threatened the emerald eyed witch. "Germany," England places a hand on his familiar's shoulder. "He's safe."

America shoots Germany a hostile glare and Germany growls, despite sensing that America had much more power than he did. America snarls but Germany stands his ground beside England.

"Germany," England repeats sharply.

With a growl, Germany backs away and some part of America begins to wonder if what he came to do was really the right thing. He frowns. Did the _right_ thing even exist?

"America?" the sandy blonde's voice awakens America from his reverie.

"England," America begins, voice slightly shaky. He isn't too sure about his intentions any more, except that... His eyes narrow as he notices England's pale neck beneath his open collar. "England," he repeats, voice noticeably lower than usual.

"America," England frowns. "What is it that you-"

The strawberry blonde pulls him into a heated kiss, thrusting his tongue into his mouth possessively. "England. You're mine," he practically rips off England's shirt, throwing it aside as England writhes helplessly in his arms, unable to resist as America plants kisses down his body, tongue teasing his dusty pink nipples before going lower. He divests England of his clothes completely and Germany grabs America's hand, hoping to stop him when England shakes his head.

"But-" Germany starts and England kisses him, thus preventing him from protesting as America licks at the emerald eyed witch's entrance, preparing him for the solitary outcome. He stops suddenly, noticing how Germany reacts to England.

"England," America growls and England breaks the kiss.

"America," England whispers hoarsely. "You know that he is my familiar, you know that I will always-"

America doesn't say anything as his fingers enter England, thrusting upwards, hitting his prostate, making the sandy blonde's knees go weak. "Fuck him," he orders and England complies hastily, removing Germany's clothes, much to his familiar's confusion. England tries to prepare Germany as quickly as he can while America leads the both of them to the bed. His familiar lies below the emerald eyed witch as he buries himself to the hilt within him and America follows suit. England reaches for Germany's already hardened length, rubbing his fingers against the tip as he thrusts forward rapidly, moaning, emerald eyes clouded with lust.

America slams repeatedly into into England, making the emerald eyed witch cry out in pleasure and it is only when Germany's hips jerk forward that he remembers to continue thrusting into his familiar. The pleasure England is feeling is unbelievable; the sensation of being filled and filling another so intimately overwhelms him and it isn't long before his release slams into him, with Germany and America's following close behind.

"America," England's eyelids flutter open slowly after a while. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Hush, it's okay," America cuts him off. He thinks he has his answer now, he just needs to think it over, just for a little while more.

"Germany," England turns to his familiar, who merely shakes his head.

"Rest," Germany nods and England does, letting sleep claim him as he lies in the arms of the two he holds dear to him.

* * *

"Welcome to the War Games, aru," a voice calls out, magically amplified above the cacophony of noise caused by the massive amount of witches, familiars and spectators present to witness the beginning of one of the hottest events on the world calender. Mortals were interested only because witches (and sometimes, their familiars too) had an ethereal sort of beauty that enchanted them. Other witches and different types of magical creatures flocked to the capital for the War Games merely to satisfy their curiosity, as well as to be entertained by the fights.

"All witches and familiars participating, may I have your attention please, aru," the voice is tinged with power this time, causing the noise to magically die down.

"Each witch will be allocated a red card and a purple card shortly," the voice announces and Austria traces it to a teenaged girl, no, a man, with dark hair tied into a ponytail. "The red card will identify you as a participant in the War Games and the purple card will be your starting chip, aru."

Within seconds, Austria finds a red and purple card in his palm.

"Familiars that are participating will be marked with a black skull on their neck," the man continues. "I am China, and I will be your moderator for the Games. Should you have any queries, you may come to me, aru," China finishes.

The loud sound of a horn being blown pierces the silence and Austria smirks, recognising it as that the sound of _no ordinary horn_.

"You may begin, aru," China announces.

"How apt it is for the horn of the Erl King to be sounded the first and the last time I choose to participate," Austria mutters to no one in particular, turning to look for England.

* * *

**a/n:** oohhh boy. **reviews will be much appreciated, my lovelies~**


	6. chapter five

**a/n: **thank you** Tamer Lorika**, **Daisies **and **minoki **for your reviews! uhh i hope this chapter explains more stuff... appreciate your feedback loads. anyway, enjoy!**  
**

* * *

England feels strangely restless as he wanders about the forest, America and Germany by his side. Austria seems to be feeling the same and Prussia is sticking close to his brother, crimson eyes shifting uneasily. The emerald eyed witch feels oddly amused as he observes the differences between the two brothers. Unlike America and Canada, where there were a significant amount of physical similarities between the two, Germany hardly looked like his older brother, although it may have been due to how Prussia was an albino.

The sound of leaves rustling breaks England's train of thought as he looks up sharply only to find that there was no one around except for the five of them.

"We're not alone," Austria turns to the sandy blonde, who nods. "Will your shields hold in the event of an ambush?"

"They should," England replies and America is about to speak when they are interrupted by a flaming arrow speeding past. "Bloody hell," the emerald eyed witch swears under his breath.

"It's a challenge," Austria's eyes narrow. "I accept," he calls out, stepping forward when another flaming arrow speeds past them.

England smirks. "So I see that someone out there is brimming with confidence," he nods. "I accept."

A teenaged girl appears in front of both witches, dark blue eyes glittering dangerously. Her long, platinum blonde hair is held back by a white hair bow and in her hand is a knife instead of the bow and arrows Austria and England expected to see. "My name is Belarus," her voice is cold and icy.

"England," the sandy blonde smiles, looking as if he is amused by his challenger. Belarus wore a dark blue knee length dress with a white apron tied around her waist. It looked typical of a village girl, but somehow, Belarus didn't quite fit the bill as one. Then again, Austria didn't quite fit the bill of a witch who wanted to die either. The brunette wore a cravat tied in the latest fashion with a white dress shirt, along with a finely tailored suit and a well cut cloak. If anything, he looked like an aristocrat who belonged in the higher echelons of society. But it wasn't as if Austria was the only one. His 'inheritance' had ensured that he could live comfortably and dress well for the rest of eternity and he had did just that.

"Austria," the brunette nods in acknowledgment. There is something about Belarus that unsettles him, just like how his interaction with Sweden and Finland unsettled him but as for what it was, he couldn't tell.

Belarus looks at America and at Germany, then looks at England. "You have two familiars?"

The sandy blonde shrugs. "It isn't against the rules."

"Very well. I shall duel with the both of you at the same time," she nods. A leash appears in her hand and she yanks hard against it.

Austria frowns, wondering what Belarus' intentions are. He has enough cards to advance into the third round of the Games by now and so does England, he has no idea how many cards his challenger has but surely, to risk everything by taking on two challengers at a go? It was almost suicidal.

"Russia," Belarus calls out and a tall man with beige blonde hair appears by her side, led forward with a tug of the leash she holds, attached to a collar on his neck. Russia lets out a soft growl and Austria immediately realises what it is that makes him so uncomfortable.

"England," Austria looks at the sandy blonde, who returns his gaze with an equal amount of discomfort. "They're both-"

"Yes, I know," England replies and forces a smile on his face. The way America is looking at Russia is extremely foreboding and if anything, England really wanted to avoid having the wendingo consume his opponent because having your 'familiar' consume another's familiar never bode well for anyone. "America," he addresses the strawberry blonde sharply as he turns to look at England, squinting slightly.

"Yeah?" America asks.

"Don't eat anyone."

"Don't worry, he won't be able to," Belarus smiles, sending chills down Austria's spine. Prussia inches closer to Germany, who places a protective hand on his brother's shoulder, much to his annoyance. She releases the leash and with a snarl, Russia transforms into a huge, bear like creature. "Brother, it's playtime."

* * *

Canada jerks awake with a start. He finds that his legs are folded forward and when he tries to straighten them-

"Mon petit lapin," a soft voice calls out and Canada's heart starts beating faster, from a strange sort of anticipation for the torture and from the mind numbing pain he just experienced from trying to straighten his legs. There is a bar behind his thighs, at the base of his ass and something that feels like a cuff device is attached to the base of his scrotum and _fuck, it really hurts_. "I see that you've been acquainted with the humbler," France murmurs, observing how Canada mewls in pain.

Canada doesn't reply as a cool hand strokes his ass gently, fondling it. A sharp, resounding slap follows and Canada screams as blow after blow hits the exact same spot until the skin is bruised and ruby red.

"You've been thinking of someone other than me, haven't you?" France murmurs, speaking as if he has read Canada's thoughts and knew how he dreamt of America, touching him, holding him close, caressing the wounds on his body... Canada shivers in fear, hoping that America was safe, somewhere far away from the _monster_ that was holding him captive but at the same time, he wishes that America was coming for him. "I suppose I'll have to teach you just who exactly you belong to then," the blue eyed witch's hands wander upwards. Upon finding a hardened nub on Canada's chest, he smirks.

"Ahh, mon petit lapin," France's fingers tease the nipple, scraping his nail over it, pressing it down ever so slowly before rubbing his thumb against it. "It seems that even though your heart belongs to someone else, your body belongs to me."

Canada tries to shut France's voice out by thinking of America, returning to his fantasies of what his brother would do if he hadn't attacked him out of sheer hunger back then, during that cool evening but it is futile. France's fingers dance lower and they encircle his cock, rubbing against the already leaking slit, _oh how Canada hates himself_, spreading the wetness across his tip.

"You must learn to forget, mon cheri," France's voice resembles that of a low, seductive whisper and Canada wonders if he can ever learn to love another, apart from his brother. There was England, of course, who treated him with kindness but it wasn't really what he sought, it was something more, something like... Something like the way France treated him. Sure, it was painful but each time France came to him, it was as if he had eyes for him and _only for him_. He gulps nervously as France pushes a finger into his entrance. It goes in easily, because he has developed a habit of leaving his seed within Canada, punishing him if he lets it drip out of him. That was, if France didn't spill it over his face instead of within him. Canada wonders when he has become such a masochist; he remembers crying when America bullied as a child but they _were_ children then. The finger is withdrawn and Canada expects another finger but instead, France's cock enters him.

Canada moans as with a single thrust, France hits his prostate. Canada wonders if he can come to love someone he has never seen in his entire life. He doesn't know his captor's name, he knows nothing at all and yet some part of him was beginning to long for his feather light touches... France thrusts into him, setting a rhythm and Canada rocks his hips backwards only to have France bring his palm down against the injured spot on his ass once again.

"Mon petit lapin, you do not move unless I give you the permission to do so," France admonishes, voice mocking and Canada starts to doubt if he can really learn to love him. Perhaps, if he manages to retain his sanity throughout the vicious cycle, maybe, if America couldn't save him, maybe, maybe, maybe... The blue eyed witch continues thrusting, fingers occasionally brushing against Canada's cock, squeezing the sensitive tip, torturing him, pushing him to the brink and keeping him there as France pulls out and spills white all over his ass.

"Please," this time, Canada begs without being ordered to do so. "Please, I beg you, let me-"

France brings Canada to his climax with a few strokes of his palm. His mind is elsewhere, thinking of the power he could gain from winning the War Games and how he would use it... He shudders as Canada growls and the blue eyed witch snaps his fingers, releasing his familiar from his bonds.

"Go, mon cheri. You must feed," France whispers as Canada leaves the dungeon, mind filled with thoughts of nothing but his terrible hunger.

* * *

Russia lunges forward at Prussia, deciding that he was the weakest opponent. The albino dodges, transforming into a panther in mid leap as Germany joins in the fray, taking his brother's form as well.

"Fuck," America swears as he jumps in front of England, pushing the emerald eyed witch away, taking a blow from Belarus, who manages to stab him in the arm.

"America!" England cries out as he calls upon the power of ice, sending a mini hailstorm in Belarus' direction, who promptly turns it around towards Austria. The brunette deflects it easily, turning the ice into a puddle of water as he summons Ghost Fire, causing America to freeze.

England groans as he pulls America aside, leaving the violet eyed witch to deal with Belarus as Russia engaged Prussia and Germany in a fight, lunging at each other, leaping and growling, trying to sink teeth and claws into soft skin.

"America, get a hold of yourself!" England shakes the strawberry blonde hard. Of all times to be afraid of ghosts, America _had_ to show his fear in the middle of a duel... With a frustrated groan, England crushes America's lips against his. When they break apart, the sandy blonde is aware of Belarus' gaze upon him and he quickly mutters a spell, sending a blue orb of energy her way. "America. Are you alright?" England asks, voice urgent and America nods numbly.

"Just don't let me see that again," the strawberry blonde smiles weakly as he winces in pain from the wound caused by Belarus' knife. He presses a hand to his stomach and laughs shakily when he finds it covered in blood. "Oh fuck, England, I don't think I'm going to make it..."

The emerald eyed witch grits his teeth in frustration as Austria attempts to divert Belarus' attention by bombarding her with orbs of energy infused with Ghost Fire. They seem to work, for each time a green sphere hits the platinum blonde, she yelps in pain, which makes Austria all the more convinced that the unsettling feeling he felt was not wrong.

Meanwhile, Russia claws at Germany, managing to draw blood. Prussia howls in fury as he pounces on to the bear, sinking his razor sharp claws into the fur as Russia thrashed about in agony.

Austria focuses his gaze on Belarus and a tiny smile graces his lips. "You're not exactly a witch, are you, Belarus?" he asks coolly.

Belarus stares at him for a moment, before reaching forward to grab his cravat. Austria sidesteps and for a moment, it looks as if she is about to fall before she regains her balance again. "There is no place for conversation in a duel," she replies and the brunette laughs.

"Of course, my lady," the violet eyed witch's glasses gleam underneath the sunlight as he sends a gigantic orb of Ghost Fire straight into her gut.

The platinum blonde's eyes seem to bulge out of her sockets for a while and she spits out blood on to the ground.

"As I thought, you are one of _those_," England seems to appear from out of nowhere. His hand slides down Belarus' waist and she turns around, slashing at him with her knife but he dodges easily. "Tell me, what do you hope to achieve from entering the War Games?"

"We don't have to answer to the likes of you," Belarus shoots the emerald eyed witch a glare, which he laughs off.

Inside, England knows that it is just a bluff. He doesn't know if Austria can defeat Belarus, he doesn't know if Germany and Prussia will be able to defeat Russia but he knows that if they don't, he will suffer a fate much worse than death. He has given America as much blood as his body allows even though he knows that sex will be a much better option and now instead of fighting against Russia or Belarus (it would be far too risky anyway, he might just eat them), America was fighting his hunger somewhere in the forest.

"No, you don't," Austria nods as he whips out his rifle, using it against Belarus' knife. "Just as how you don't have the right to enslave your brother as your familiar."

The dark blue eyed witch freezes for a moment, allowing Austria to send another orb of Ghost Fire her way.

"How did you know," Belarus splutters and England wonders what is it that allows suicidal people to summon Ghost Fire. Maybe it had something to do with how close they were getting to Death, so it allowed them to use one of its resources.

"From the blank look in his eyes," Austria's gaze hardens. "Even though the positions between the both of you are interchangeable, where either one of you may act as a familiar and the other as a witch, he wasn't a willing party. You enslaved him."

A giggle escapes Belarus and soon it turns into pure, maniacal laughter. "He wouldn't marry me," she whispers, as if she is telling Austria and England a secret. "I had to find a way, any way."

"Enslavement is against the Law of Magic," England murmurs and he is met with a sharp stab to his side from Belarus' knife, which misses his side narrowly.

"I love him," a crazed look spreads over Belarus' face. "If I win, maybe, we can be together, for real..."

Sweden's words ring loud and clear in Austria's mind. _Do you believe in the power of love?_ Austria grits his teeth. "To bend another to your will with the power of the Crystal is unforgivable."

"And who are you to judge me?"

Austria hesitates for a moment, giving Belarus the opportunity to wound him. Prussia arches his back in pain, taking the damage for the violet eyed witch and Germany rushes to defend his brother as Russia leaps, landing on the injured Prussia.

"Bloody hell," England groans as he summons more ice to use against Belarus but the speed at which she is retaliating is absurd, he is losing energy fast and when he is certain that she is about to stab his heart, a bear appears out of nowhere, jumping on to Belarus.

Belarus shrieks as the bear plucks her knife from her with ease and throws it aside. When she attempts to cast a spell against it, it bites her shoulder and she screams in pain.

"What in the-" England wonders how a wild bear could have miraculously come to their rescue as Belarus tries to summon energy to fight against the bear but fails. Austria's Ghost Fire had indeed, done its damage.

"I surrender," she screams and in a flash, it is over. Russia lies against the ground in his human form, curled up in a ball as the black skull fades from his neck. Belarus' purple cards are distributed between England and Austria, while her red one disappears into thin air.

The bear gets up from its position above the platinum blonde and she makes her way to Russia, attaching the leash to his collar once again. With a flash, she is gone, leaving the two witches with their familiars and America, still struggling to suppress his hunger on the ground.

The bear transforms into a familiar looking man and Sweden steps out of the bushes, much to Austria and England's surprise.

"Did I scare you?" the man asks and it is only then that the both of them realise that it is Finland. Austria looks at Sweden, suddenly realising what the turquoise eyed witch had meant when he asked him the question. Even without a bond, Finland had the power that only a familiar could wield.

"No," England answers. "You saved us."

Austria turns to England. "The Erl King's horn..." he starts, but England shakes his head.

"I know," the sandy blonde tries to smile. "Someone will be taken by the Erl King into the land of Death. A child, probably. And we can do nothing but watch what fate has planned go by."

* * *

"Sweden," Finland begins as he pours the slices of carrots and radishes into a pot. "Do you think it was alright to leave England and Austria just like that?"

Sweden shrugs as he closes the door to the kitchen quietly and walks over to the shorter man, putting his arms around his waist. Austria and England left the inn that night, thanking the duo for their help, saying that they should get on with their journey. "Maybe," he says.

"S-Sweden!" Finland squirms in the taller man's arms, blushing as Sweden licks at his earlobe affectionately. "Nn... But for me to have attacked that girl..." he trails off worriedly.

"She's one of the Unspeakables," Sweden's hands slide lower, going under the apron, slipping past Finland's abdomen. "She may have been the witch in that fight, but whatever damage she took was her own, because she can be both a witch _and_ familiar..."

"But isn't their participation illegal?" Finland gasps as the turquoise eyed witch's hands drop lower as his tongue continues to tease the smaller man's earlobe.

"The Erl King's horn was sounded. It's anyone's game," Sweden sighs as his hands deftly undoes Finland's trousers, leaving him in only a light pullover and the flimsy pink apron.

"Wait Sweden, not here, anyone can walk in-"

Sweden silences Finland with a gentle kiss. "I locked the door," he says, eyes sparkling beneath his spectacles. Finland feels his breath hitch as the turquoise eyed witch's hand closes around him, fingertips brushing against where he was aching to be touched.

"But Sweden, they... I-" Finland stops speaking only because Sweden presses his fingers to his lips and he slicks up the digits, paying extra attention to the turquoise eyed witch's middle finger.

"We'll do what we have to when the time comes," Sweden reassures him as his fingers leave Finland's mouth. Finland wonders what Sweden is about to do when the taller man's arms leave his waist and when Sweden touches his tongue to his entrance, he moans, hips jerking forward.

"Sweden!" the word is torn from Finland's lips as the turquoise eyed witch swirls his tongue at the entrance, fingers teasing his arousal, rubbing at the underside. When the appendage enters him, Finland moans again as Sweden prepares him, fingers joining in as well, probing, stretching, scissoring before hitting his prostate, causing him to moan again.

The turquoise eyed witch reaches for a tiny bottle of scented oil in his pocket and within moments, he frees his erection and slicks it up with the oil as he removes his fingers from Finland.

"Sweden," Finland's voice is now a soft plea and Sweden throws the bottle aside, entering the smaller man slowly. When Finland's hips buck forward, Sweden moves within him, increasing the speed of his thrusting as he wraps his fingers around Finland's hardened length, pumping it. "Sweden," Finland whimpers as the turquoise eyed witch's grip tightens on his hips, thrusting harder, hitting his prostate and with a few more thrusts, Sweden goes over the edge, taking Finland with him and the only sound filling the kitchen is that of their erratic breathing.

"It has been an awfully long time, hasn't it?" Sweden asks, holding Finland in his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter.

An unmistakeably pleased sound escapes Finland's lips as he settles into Sweden's warm embrace. "Indeed," he snuggles closer. "Indeed."

* * *

**a/n: **ehehehehe. hope you enjoyed. **please review?**


	7. chapter six

**a/n: **thank you **Daisies**, **minoki** and **Tamer Lorika** for your reviews! edited chapter five, hope it explains stuff properly, yup. anyway on to the story!**  
**

* * *

"If I attain possession of the Crystal, I can bring you back to life... I'm sorry, I failed you, I swear, I won't fail you again, my love... Please, hold out, just for a while more... Please..."

Canada awakens to the sound of murmuring. These days, he hears the same thing, France begging someone to wait for him. Was it a woman or a man he was begging not to go? He doesn't know, but just as France is pining for a lost love, he too is pining for someone. But who exactly is he pining for? America? England? Or _France_? Maybe, just maybe, insanity will be better than his current state of mind.

"Canada?"

Canada hears footsteps coming closer and squeezes his eyes shut in anticipation of more torture when his blindfold is torn off and he is allowed to see his captor's face for the first time.

"You've been doing well, mon petit lapin," France smiles and Canada stares, transfixed. France's beauty matches up to his voice, as he had expected. "For that, I shall reward you..."

The blue eyed witch's hands slip down Canada's body, stroking, caressing, fondling. He presses against his familiar's growing erection and soon, his mouth covers Canada's hardened length, licking, sucking and his familiar whimpers both in pleasure and fear, wondering if he should thrust forward into the heat or if he should lie still. France teases his tip, lips brushing against it, teeth scraping gently and Canada moans, wondering if it is too good to be true but the pleasure, oh _the pleasure_... Canada's hips buck forward as France takes him in, deeper, deeper, humming, producing a lovely vibration that is just enough to send him over the edge...

And back into the mind numbing hunger. But it doesn't end there. As Canada writhes about on the floor, France conjures up shackles, binding his familiar's wrists together and his ankles to the ground. Canada howls but France gags him; his bindings are far too powerful for Canada to breach and he howls again, feeling the metal bite into his skin.

France presses his boot against Canada's limp cock, stimulating it, rubbing against it, teasing it patiently until it becomes erect once again.

"My sweet, sweet, Canada," France produces a bottle of oil, slicking up his fingers, undoing his trousers. He plunges three digits in at one go, preparing himself and looking at his familiar, he licks his lips, stretching himself. Moments later, he impales himself on Canada's cock, hips jerking forward, moving of their own accord, hitting his prostate. France wraps his fingers around himself, stroking rapidly and when he goes over the edge, Canada follows shortly after and screams through the gag, the shrill cry echoing throughout the dungeon.

"Enjoy the feast I've prepared for you, mon cheri," France whispers as he tangles his fingers in his familiar's blonde hair.

Canada struggles against his bonds, which refuse to break no matter what. France purrs, sounding pleased as he gets off him. He straightens his clothes and smiles, satisfied as he leads his familiar out of the dungeon and into the light.

* * *

"Germany," England frowns as he makes his way to the clearing in the midst of the forest. "Do you-"

"Canada's here," America hisses.

"Canada?" England raises an eyebrow. "Then that means-"

A tall, familiar looking blonde man steps out in front of England.

"Angleterre," France smiles briefly.

England's jaw nearly drops open, but he regains his composure quickly. "France," he nods in acknowledgment. "I see that this is a challenge?"

France shrugs and Canada appears by his side. England's eyes widen slightly, but strangely, the sudden turn of events doesn't surprise him. Except Canada is shaking with hunger, exuding energy so potent it nearly knocks England off his feet.

"I accept your challenge," England steps forward, taking a deep breath.

"Since when did you have two familiars?" France asks, tone mocking.

"I don't have to answer to you."

"Very well. Canada," France calls out to his familiar. He gives a sharp nod, signifying the beginning of the duel and with that, Canada's bonds fall away. The wendingo leaps forward, charging towards Germany and with a snarl, he transforms into a panther, ready to engage in the duel but America stops him.

"This is my fight. Stay away," America warns, but Germany doesn't back down.

"This is my fight," America repeats staunchly. "Defend England."

Germany stares at him, large eyes unblinking.

"You are his familiar, aren't you?" America does his best to keep his awkward and indescribable feelings of contempt, condescension, hurt and betrayal out of his voice. He thinks he has his answer, but the fact that England had chosen another over him still stings. "Protect him. I will fight Canada."

Germany relents and dodges as Canada takes a swipe at him, which America intercepts.

"Canada," America shivers, looking at how gaunt his brother has become. His eyes are no longer the same clear shade of blue and his skin, deathly pale.

Canada doesn't seem to recognise America, growling, trying to rip a hole in his brother's body and America finds himself saying "Canada, wake up, wake up, please, wake up."

"Canada," America repeats, almost begging, hoping to awaken his brother's sanity. "Canada!" he grabs him by his shoulders and shakes him hard and Canada sinks his claws into America's back.

"No, Canada, no, please, no," America repeats it so many times that it sounds like a mantra; he doesn't want to fight back, he doesn't want to hurt his brother so he takes a deep breath and kisses him hard and suddenly, Canada's eyes change from a glazed midnight blue to a light shade of sky blue. "Canada," America whispers, relieved, hugging Canada.

"Ame... Rica?" Canada asks weakly, before nearly collapsing to the ground, taking his brother with him. "What are you... Doing here?"

"Your witch is fighting against England," America says dully. "Leave with me, Canada. I'll set you free," he promises, despite knowing that it was impossible.

"America," Canada says, breathing heavily. "I can't."

"Does he love you?"

Canada pauses, then shakes his head and moans, feeling the pain from denying his hunger sear his brain.

"You love him."

"I will be content to stay by his side for eternity, even if he doesn't love me."

"Even if all he does is to take from you."

Canada pauses, then nods.

"You cannot keep giving. You will die," America's voice comes out sounding strangled and Canada winces.

"America," Canada hesitates for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Have you ever truly loved someone?"

America's eyes narrow slightly. "Of course."

Canada smiles. "Then you will understand why I'm doing this."

America feels wave after wave of pain assaulting his senses and he falls to the ground, coughing blood. "Canada," he looks up at his brother, eyes widening in horror.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

Austria stands in a field of edelweiss, laughing softly, facing Hungary.

"I never thought I'd face you here," Hungary's gaze hardens. "Who was it who said that he was never one for fighting?"

"Immortality can make you change your mind."

"You haven't really changed, have you."

"I will do what is necessary to acquire what I want."

Hungary sighs, frustrated. "Austria," he pleads. "Don't do this. You don't want to die, really, you don't."

Prussia so desperately wishes to yell 'Damn right!' but he holds his tongue. He doesn't know anything about Hungary and Austria's relationship, but whatever it is, he doesn't really like it. In fact, he's starting to feel a wee bit of... _Jealousy_. He shudders.

"Hungary," Austria pronounces his name slowly, agonisingly. "When you have nothing worthy of remembering when you look back-"

"Don't speak of your life like that!" Hungary cries out, green eyes flashing. "You-"

"We were once together. You and I. Before all of this," Austria cuts Hungary off. "Maybe it was happiness. Maybe it was bliss. Maybe it was just a dream and I was seeing things, behaving like the fool I have always been. Look at me now. Nothing remains," Austria laughs sardonically.

Hungary flinches, but keeps his eyes on Austria. Turkey is by his side and for once, his mask is off and he wonders if it means he has stopped pretending and stopped hiding his true power.

"It doesn't matter any more, does it?" Austria asks. "Well. Let us begin."

* * *

Canada slashes wildly at America, who dodges, escaping barely each time when a boy and girl wanders into the clearing.

"Fuck," America swears. "Get away, get away, damn it!" he hollers at the top of his voice, but they don't hear him. He looks about desperately, England is engaged in battle with France and Germany... Germany is whimpering in pain on the ground, taking each hit for England and while it doesn't look like England is losing, Canada is so lost in his hunger that he cannot feel pain.

The boy looks up for a moment, he's dressed in a white sailor shirt with blue trousers (or was it shorts?) and he's blonde; America wonders _why the fuck does he look so much like England_ and then he wonders _what the fuck are they doing here_ so he yells once more "Fuck off! Get away, damn it!" but they can't hear him.

The girl's chocolate brown hair is tied into a side ponytail, she's wearing a white blouse, shorts and a tank top; she's holding the boy's hand, America doesn't know what the hell are they doing but_ they look so damn fucking cute together and oh how America wants to hold them close and protect them and keep them away from the big, scary world_ when France notices Canada. A dazed smile spreads over the blue eyed witch's face as he mutters a spell under his breath and a shield spreads across Canada, preventing America from advancing. He feels the hunger screaming at him to join his brother, to feed on mortals but at the same time, every bit of his sanity tells him that he's better than that, he's _stronger_ than that, he can fight it, England didn't give him a part of him for _nothing_.

To his utmost horror, America realises that maybe, the two children aren't walking away because they cannot _see_ him, Canada, or Germany. There are bushes with bursting ripe berries nearby, they are walking towards them but somehow they deviate from their intended pathway. "Canada, no, oh fuck, no," America moans, clutching his side, feeling his injury from before throb with pain as he tries to fight against France's shields. From the corner of his eye, he sees Germany tearing at it - he doesn't know when the panther has shown up by his side but America appreciates the effort anyway - but somehow he is unable to create an opening.

Canada turns his gaze towards the two children, Germany is furiously clawing at the force field but he's weak, the fur on his back is soaked with blood and Canada, Canada is covered in blood but he doesn't notice and America feels his heart break. Part of his sanity slips away as he vows to get revenge and finally, he manages to break the shield with sheer brute force. Germany growls something vaguely incomprehensible and motions for America to proceed and he does, only to find that he is too late - the two children are gone, Canada is panting heavily, the flow of blood has stopped but nonetheless, the grass is stained scarlet. Germany collapses as he sustains the crack in the shield so that the strawberry blonde can pass and America catches sight of a scrap of pink material on the floor and with a howl, he charges forward as Canada looks up at him, eyes still glazed.

America goes berserk.

* * *

"Why, France?" England screams, keeling over with pain. Germany has taken far too much damage on his behalf, there is no way he can subject him to anything more. "You can't bring the dead back to life, even if you use the Crystal, all you'll get is just a bloody shell, you and I both-"

"Shut up!" France shrieks, blue eyes wild and crazed unlike anything England has seen of him before. "Do not speak as if we are on the same level. I am not like you, I have never tried-"

"Bollocks," England laughs shrilly as he clutches at his side, unsurprised that blood is flowing freely. "We both know what you tried to do back then. You would've never joined the War Games if you didn't know that whatever you might've tried would be a failure-"

"Shut up!" France shrieks again. "Shut up, shut up, _shut up_!"

"No, France," England's smile spreads into a maniacal grin. He lifts his hand and forcing whatever power he has left out of him, he creates a tiny orb of energy, aiming it at France. "_You_ shut up."

* * *

"Finland," Sweden stops in the middle of laying the table for dinner. "The damage has been done."

Finland looks up at the turquoise eyed witch quizzically.

"Two children have been killed," a look of terrible sadness crosses Sweden's face and Finland shudders, because he knows who he is referring to. The two children who they treated as their own, because their parents often left them in their care, but once the War Games started, the family left, moving away to the countryside, and yet...

"Sweden," Finland hugs the taller man, burying his face in his chest.

"Finland," Sweden's voice sounds far away and oddly distant. "Do you know why I've never made you my familiar?"

"Because you don't want to participate in the War Games?"

Sweden smiles and shakes his head, tightening his embrace. "No, love. It is because I don't want you to be bound to me. Love will only be love if it is given freely."

Finland's eyes widen, then he smiles, cheek flushing slightly. He looks up at the turquoise eyed witch, eyes shining. "I love you, Sweden," he tiptoes and kisses him.

"I love you too," Sweden mumbles against Finland's lips before deepening the kiss, all thoughts about dinner completely forgotten.

* * *

Turkey transforms into a wolf, circling Prussia with lithe grace, sizing him up. Prussia is disturbed by how he is brown, not the usual gray (he wonders why, but it doesn't really matter actually because what is more disturbing is the fact that Turkey seems to be slightly larger than him) and when Turkey pounces, aiming for his throat, Prussia narrowly dodges with a leap into the air, landing on Turkey's back, tearing away at the soft flesh.

Hungary whips out a frying pan and Austria resists the urge to smirk.

"Some things don't change, huh," he whispers under his breath as he summons Ghost Fire, which Hungary easily deflects with the frying pan. Austria frowns as he side steps, narrowly avoiding the rebound. He summons water next, which Hungary raises an eyebrow at and they exchange blows, engaging in what looked like swordplay except with a frying pan and a rifle. Metal meets metal and Austria considers it a miracle that the muzzle of his rifle is still straight as he deflects a blow from Hungary.

Hungary remembers lying beside Austria, kissing his brow, telling him how important his frying pan was to him because it brought him luck and he remembers how Austria showed him a secret compartment in his rifle, where he kept a bullet which nearly shot him in the heart... And it creates the opening Austria needs to wound Hungary.

Turkey howls as wave after wave of pain assaults him, from both Prussia's unrelentless attack and from the damage inflicted on Hungary. Prussia is no better, his fur is too, dripping with blood. Turkey snaps at Prussia, who attempts to back away to dodge the attack but he moves a second too late and sustains yet another injury.

The duel is far from over between Austria and Hungary, as both summon orbs of energy, pelting one another's shields with it. Austria wonders how long can the both of them hold out - not long, maybe a few more minutes - when Hungary stops suddenly and Austria is blown backwards, landing a few metres away, coughing blood. Hungary collapses, blood flowing from his nostrils.

"I've lost," he admits, sadness filling his green eyes momentarily. "I hope to see you after this though. Please, do not kill yourself."

With that, Hungary disappears and so does Turkey.

* * *

Austria feels no great joy from his victory as he scrambles over to Prussia's side. His eyes widen in shock as he finds the albino immobilised, curled up in a ball on the ground. "Prussia," Austria cradles his familiar in his arms. When he finds blood all over, his cheeks turn deathly pale. "Prussia, I-"

"Stupid aristocrat," Prussia tries to laugh, but ends up coughing instead.

"Prussia, are you-"

"I'll be fine. My awesomeness will heal me."

"That is a pathetic excuse for a joke," there is a pained expression on Austria's face and Prussia reaches up to stroke his cheek.

"Don't frown," the albino shakes his head disapprovingly. "You look awful when you do."

"You speak as if you're dying," Austria bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, then kisses Prussia. When he pulls away, Prussia's lips are stained a brilliant hue of scarlet. "You won't die."

Prussia closes his eyes and shakes his head. "You're one to talk."

"Perhaps," Austria carries his familiar in his arms almost effortlessly.

"Stupid aristocrat."

* * *

It ends quickly.

Canada is pinned to the ground, America over him, tears falling, wetting his brother's cheeks.

"America," Canada says softly, bright blue eyes looking straight into his brother's sapphire ones. "What have I done?" he asks, squeezing his brother's hand, sounding scared, exactly like how he sounded, small and frightened after he fed for the first time so many years ago.

America doesn't reply, crying harder. He hasn't cried in years, no, he hasn't cried since Canada pointed out all his faults and reduced him to tears a few years ago and now... "Canada," America wonders how long his brother can hold out before slipping into insanity again. "Canada, I-" he finds that the words are stuck in his throat, somehow, he can't bring himself to say them. Instead, he gestures to his neck and leans forward. Cradling his brother's head in his arms, he lifts his head and presses his lips to his throat.

"No, please, no," Canada shakes his head, body convulsing in America's arms. "Please, I beg you, no, please, no..."

America wants to kill the monster who turned his brother into a complete wreck, but resists the urge because he knows that even if he consumes France, the witch will live on within him as a spirit, haunting him. "Canada, it's me, America, I'm your brother, remember?" he asks. "Drink, Canada, please, you'll feel better after that, please..."

"No, please, no, don't hurt me," Canada shrinks away from America's touch and America feels a huge part of him die inside.

* * *

"France," England looks at the fallen witch, lying on the ground, bleeding. "It's over. You've lost."

France doesn't reply, merely shrugging.

England leaves to tend to America and Germany.

* * *

Hungary lies languid in Turkey's arms as his familiar reaches for him again, touch feather light and gentle.

"You did well today," Hungary murmurs as Turkey nods, grinding against his ass as his touches grow in intensity, teasing but remaining frustratingly slow.

"Hungary," Turkey slips in and Hungary moans, back arching as his familiar fills him completely once more. "Why do you bother with the War Games?" he withdraws, leaving only his tip inside before thrusting in again.

"I had a feeling Austria would enter this time," Hungary manages to answer between his soft cries of pleasure. "Besides, you had fun, didn't you?"

Turkey speeds up his thrusting, but his touches remain ever so slow and patient. Frustrated, Hungary grinds against his palm, only to have him remove it, hand reaching upwards to tweak his nipples, eliciting more moans.

"Turkey..." Hungary moans, trying to sound threatening but failing.

"Mm," Turkey nips Hungary's earlobe affectionate as his touches resume and his thrusting grows quicker, bringing the both of them to completion.

* * *

"Canada," France takes in the sight of his familiar's bruised and battered body.

Canada doesn't dare to look up at the blue eyed witch. As much as he longs for his caress, he knows he has failed him. He supposes he will be lucky if his punishment is something lighter, hopefully not the brand, _oh how it hurts when the scorching hot iron burns his skin_. Canada curls up into a ball by the corner of the dungeon, shaking in fear.

"Canada," France's voice is a broken whisper as his fingers trace Canada's wounds, from the red welts caused by the whip he had used on him to the injuries he had sustained in his fight with America. "My sweet Canada," his voice is soft and mournful. Canada doesn't dare to breathe as France places his hands on his shoulders so that he can look into his familiar's eyes.

Canada lets out a choked sob as France traces his cheekbone, thumb rubbing against the tiny cuts on his face.

"Canada," France kisses his familiar, who shrinks away from his touch.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't hurt me, please," Canada murmurs, begging.

"Canada," France shakes his head, stroking his familiar's hair. "No, it's fine, Canada..." the blue eyed witch holds him close, then conjures a tub of hot water and a small stool for Canada. "Sit," he soaks a piece of cloth into the water and his familiar obeys. He wipes the dirt and blood off Canada's beautiful porcelain skin and with each mewl of pain his familiar fails to hold in, France feels his heart break. It reminds him of how, not too long ago, he used to dress another's wounds, tend to another's injuries and he remembers the warmth, the laughter, the feeling of being loved... He looks at Canada, quivering and broken and he hates himself for breaking him like that, but the damage is done. Even so... Perhaps England was right. The dead _was_ dead, nothing could bring back a soul, no matter how one tried. He stares at Canada, who looks up at him, eyes full of uncertainty and he wonders if he can learn to trust another again. More importantly, he wonders if he can let go of his past. His familiar cocks his head to the side and suddenly, France feels himself being overwhelmed with warmth. He smiles.

Maybe, just maybe, he can learn to love him.

* * *

**a/n: **ahhh that was painful. i'm so sorry Sealand and Wy were introduced so that i could kill them off /gets shot. anyway... **review?**


	8. chapter seven

**a/n: **thank you **Daisies**, **TheNinjaWangsta**, **minoki **and **Tamer Lorika **for the reviews! the previous chapter has been edited, yup. err, hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

"Prussia," Austria straddles his familiar, breathing heavily. "You sure you can take this?" he asks, fingers tracing the albino's collarbone, moving down to tease his nipples.

"Of course," Prussia replies. "I'm not a doll," he rolls his eyes as he jerks his hips upwards to grind against Austria.

"Right," Austria murmurs as he presses his lips to Prussia's, then plants more kisses down his neck, chest and abdomen to the tip of his cock. Austria licks a heated trail down his familiar's cock to his entrance and when the violet eyed witch's tongue slips past the tight ring of muscle and Prussia bites hard on his lip, trying to prevent himself from screaming in ecstasy. He cups Prussia's balls, squeezing and massaging gently before moving up to Prussia's leaking slit, pressing against it.

"A-austria," Prussia moans as Austria's fingers leave his tip only to enter him, stretching him. It feels oddly uncomfortable for him, the intrusion feels slightly alien and he's squirming and-

Oh. Oh, oh, _oh_.

Prussia cries out in pleasure as the digits within him hit that magic spot, initial pain completely forgotten.

Austria wonders if he still has some oil somewhere - no wait, he probably doesn't and stopping to summon some would probably spoil the moment - so he gets up and presses his cock to the albino's lips. Prussia looks at him with half lidded eyes as he licks at the appendage, sucking at it, taking the brunette in, laving every inch of skin.

With a groan, Austria withdraws from the intoxicating heat of his familiar's mouth. He parts Prussia's legs, gripping his thighs as he thrusts into him, slowly at first but it's difficult - he's so tight and hot - and he buries himself to the hilt within him, causing the albino to whimper in pain. Austria kisses Prussia fiercely as he withdraws and his tongue enters his mouth, mimicking his thrusting. After a while, Prussia moans into the brunette's mouth because damn, it feels _so damn fucking good_ when Austria hits his prostate over and over again.

Austria rubs his fingers against his familiar's cock, stroking in time with his thrusting, bringing him to completion and Prussia screams Austria's name as the violet eyed witch fills him with his seed and with his power.

* * *

England faces Austria in the same field of edelweiss.

"You really wish to die," England's voice is solemn, and the sentence comes out more as a statement than a question. America and Germany stand behind him in silence.

Austria hesitates for a moment and Prussia looks at him, eyes pleading. "Austria, no," he mouths.

The brunette ignores his familiar and turns to England. "Yes," he nods, violet eyes unreadable.

England concedes defeat.

* * *

England returns to his mansion with America and Germany. None of them speak throughout the journey back and the silence is awkward and almost unbearable. When they enter England's house, they follow him to his room and England stops, turning to the both of them. He's about to speak, but America and Germany look at him, eyes ablaze with lust, staring intently at him. He frowns.

"America," England begins, then turns to his familiar. "Germany-"

Before England can continue, Germany kisses him and America guides him into the room and on to the bed.

"W-wait," England protests, moaning as Germany breaks the kiss, hands roaming about his chest, teasing his nipples through his shirt, squeezing one in between his thumb and index finger. "What are you doing?"

America smirks as he removes the rest of England's clothes, leaving only his white dress shirt. "Fucking you," he says as if it's the most logical explanation. "I mean, making love to you," he corrects himself after Germany raises an eyebrow at him.

Germany frees America's cock quickly and takes him into his mouth, fingers stroking in an agonisingly slow manner as he sucks at the appendage, rubbing his tongue against the underside. America gathers England into his arms as he bites the alabaster skin on his neck, leaving angry red marks in the wake of his bruising kisses as the emerald eyed witch writhes and moans in his arms.

"Wait," England starts, eyes widening. "But I thought the both of-"

"Hush," America shakes his head. "It's alright," he soothes, although England doesn't really understand what is going on. Ever since the last time he had sex with America, he thought that the strawberry blonde wanted to leave him, he thought that he couldn't accept Germany's presence, but now...

Germany's mouth leaves America as America goes down on England. The strawberry blonde's mouth is warm, wet and terribly inviting and England rocks his hips forward, thrusting into his mouth while Germany fingers his entrance, long and slender digits teasing the tight hole before entering, one after another, fully lubricated.

"England," America looks slyly at the emerald eyed witch as his mouth leaves England's cock. "D'you think you can manage..." he trails off as he glances at Germany, then at England again.

"America," the word leaves England's lips in a breathy sigh and strawberry blonde nods to Germany, passes a bottle of oil to him. England has absolutely no idea how Germany knew where to get the oil from but by now he doesn't really care as America pushes yet another lubricated finger into him, adding on to Germany's four, stretching him further. "G-germany," England whimpers as his familiar curls his fingers forward while America adds another digit, and yet another, preparing him.

Without warning, America and Germany removes their fingers and England cries out from the loss of contact. America slides into sandy blonde, cock slicked with oil, filling him and England moans as America hits his prostate. He gasps when he feels Germany's fingertips at his entrance, digits entering. "Germany," England looks up at his familiar.

Germany's eyes are filled with nothing but warmth and England mewls as he pushes another finger in. America hits his prostate again, then Germany positions himself at England's already filled entrance. Stretching the emerald eyed witch further, Germany enters him slowly, painfully and England shudders in between him and America, convulsing in pain.

"Shh, love," America whispers as he licks at England's earlobe, nipping it. "It's alright," he murmurs as the emerald eyed witch does his best to relax. The both of them were fully sheathed within him, with him shivering in their arms. It hurt - of course it did - the both of them were of considerable size and even though they had done their best to prepare him for it, he was still so very _tight_.

"England," America's voice is soft and breathy. "You need to move..."

England rides the both of them, slowly and it is then, in that split second that America and Germany realises how _vulnerable_ England actually is, despite everything. America feels his protective urges arising in him and so does Germany as they hold him close. The emerald eyed witch increases his speed, rising and falling with America's support on his hips and his hands on Germany's shoulders for leverage. Words leave his lips as an incoherent mess and his eyes slip shut as the pleasure from constantly having his prostate stimulated and from Germany fingering his cock, thumb rubbing the tip in a circular motion.

America feeling his cock rubbing against Germany's inside England and the friction feels strangely good as they build up an erratic sort of rhythm, pulling out, then pushing in. Germany kisses England, who sinks his nails into his shoulders, then America kisses the emerald eyed witch as he clenches and unclenches around the two of them.

It isn't long before they go over the edge, with England spilling his seed over Germany's stomach first, biting at his familiar's jugular. America and Germany follow soon after, painting the emerald eyed witch's insides white, marking him as theirs.

After a while, England stirs, eyelids fluttering open. "America," England looks up at the strawberry blonde. "I... I love-"

"I know," America smiles, kissing his brow.

England turns to his familiar. "Germany, I-"

"I'll be content to remain by your side," Germany nods, holding England's hand.

"America-"

"Sleep," America kisses England again. "It's alright. I'll share, for now," he adds, sighing blissfully, gathering the sandy blonde in his arms.

"Mm," England drifts off to sleep, limbs entwined with America's and Germany's.

* * *

"France!" Canada calls out, running across fields of wheat, smiling.

France looks at his familiar and waves as Canada hugs him tight.

"France," Canada looks up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. France strokes his hair and kisses his forehead. "Where are we going?" he asks as France picks up his suitcase.

"Somewhere far, far away," France smiles fondly at him, holding his hand.

"Far... Away?" Canada frowns. "But I... America..." he falters, looking down.

"We'll come back," France squeezes Canada's hand reassuringly. "But for now, we need to go somewhere. After that, we'll go wherever you want to go," he looks at his familiar, whose smile warms his heart.

"Oh, alright then," Canada beams.

France nods, then looks away. Sometimes Canada reverts to his scared self, cowering in a corner in fear, not wanting his touch. Most of the time, he behaves like a child who knows nought of the world, a child who has only had interaction with his brother and England, who France doesn't exactly think is a fine example of 'good company', but he supposes it is better than nothing. He does his best to feed him with power so he won't lose his sanity but he knows that soon, it will no longer be enough. He has to seek out a healer, somewhere out there and it is exactly what he intends to do.

Sometimes, when Canada lies curled up by his side, France wonders why he had even hurt him in the first place. In the end, maybe England had been right all along. At the end of the day, when all is said and done, the only ones that matter are the living, because the dead will never come back to life again. Guilt eats at him and whenever he cries, Canada kisses his tears away, which makes him feel worse. He vows to make it up to him no matter what and he will do anything, no, everything in his power to make sure that no one, not even _himself_ would hurt Canada ever again.

* * *

"Good afternoon," China greets Austria, smiling. "You have come to claim your prize, aru?"

"Yes," Austria nods.

"This way please," China leads Austria down a maze of corridors.

No words are exchanged until they arrive at a door covered in ancient text. Prussia shivers, feeling the power emanating from the room and Austria places his hand on his shoulder, telling him that things were fine.

"Your majesty," China calls out and the door swings inward, opening. "The winner is here, aru."

China steps into the room and Austria follows. In the middle of the pure white room was a pulsing red crystal the size of a man's head atop a cushion and beside it stood a familiar brunette.

"Spain?" Austria's eyes widen in surprise.

China looks at Austria in alarm. "He is our-"

"Austria!" Spain grins, cutting China off.

"Why am I not surprised," Austria mutters under his breath as his gaze shifts to the young man beside Spain.

"How do you know him?" the young man demands in a fierce whisper.

"He was my classmate," Spain smiles serenely and Austria shudders. "A long, long, time ago."

The young man shoots Spain a glare, which he ignores as he slides his hand down his waist.

"This is Romano," Spain kisses Romano on the cheek and he flushes scarlet. "My Queen."

Austria bows slightly and Prussia wonders what exactly is the relationship between Spain and the violet eyed witch, filing the question under 'things to ask later' in his mind.

"Well, congratulations," Spain pulls Austria into a congratulatory hug and the violet eyed witch's eyebrow twitches. "Shall we begin?"

Austria shrugs and Spain lifts the Crystal from the cushion, placing it on Austria's hand. It feels surprisingly light, but then again, with as with anything magical, looks were always deceiving.

"Make a wish, make it true," Spain's voice drops to a low whisper and Austria nods, closing his eyes.

_Return our mortality_, Austria whispers to the Crystal with every fibre of his being and it throbs in his palm, radiating heat as slowly, cracks formed on its surface, causing it to shatter into a million pieces before disappearing. When Austria opens his eyes, Prussia is staring, transfixed. Spain is still smiling, with Romano by his side.

"I knew this day would come," Spain smiles. "Somehow, I always knew that it would be you."

"Liar," Austria sniffs. "Your head was always in the clouds whenever we interacted back then."

"Maybe," there's an impish look in Spain's eyes as he turns to leave with Romano. "I suppose we'll have to abolish the War Games now. After all, the Crystal was created from the mortality of every witch in existence, granting them immortality. Now that the Crystal has been destroyed..." Spain whistles.

Prussia looks at Austria, horrified. "Are you-" he dreads what is to follow, he doesn't want Austria to kill himself, but...

Austria takes his hand. "Let us leave."

* * *

**a/n: **so only the epilogue's left! ahahaha. anyway, merry christmas, hope y'all find austria's decision satisfactory. **reviews will be nice~**


	9. epilogue

**a/n: **i am sorry this took forever. thank you **minoki**, **TheNinjaWangsta**, **Tamer Lorika **and **Daisies **for your lovely reviews. previous chapter was edited, hope it makes more sense now and err, i hope you enjoy this epilogue.  


* * *

"Are you still going to die," Prussia does his best to glare at Austria.

Austria doesn't reply, looking in the mirror, examining the red circle that replaced the dull green one underneath his left eye. _Somehow the Crystal thought my wish was true and granted it_, he muses to himself as he taps the circle lightly. How many times had the Crystal denied wishes to dominate the world, to be the most powerful witch, et cetera, et cetera? No, maybe it was not that his wish was true, but rather, in the end, it was a wish that was for the good of others. _Because in the end, the Crystal is made up of our mortality, of our right to die. Somehow it managed to develop a 'conscience', to grant wishes that would only do good, and now, maybe, maybe, the time has come for things to change... _He finds himself smiling as he takes another look at the red circle._ The future won't necessarily be better and brighter, but it's something new, something more... Exhilarating because we're _mortal_ once again._

"Austria," Prussia frowns, annoyance creeping into his voice as he gets up and walks across the room, grabbing the violet eyed witch by his shoulders. "Are you-"

Austria turns around and he's about to snap at his familiar, but Prussia kisses him hard, thrusting his tongue roughly into his mouth, pinning him to the wall. His hand snakes south to undo the violet eyed witch's trousers and it isn't long before he rids him of it, gripping his length, pumping it slowly. The albino breaks the kiss long enough to lubricate his fingers, before kissing the brunette again.

"Nn," Austria arches forward to meet Prussia's questing fingers, impaling himself on the digits. His hips rock forward of their own accord as Prussia thrusts in and out, the friction between his erection and Prussia's clothed one felt good enough but he knows he wants more than just his familiar's fingers, he wants his erection. "Prussia," Austria breaks the kiss, panting.

"Mm?" Prussia smirks.

"Please," Austria's eyes are clouded with lust. "Fuck me," his voice is a high pitched whine.

The albino gladly obliges him, burying himself within him in a single thrust. He rams hard and fast against the violet eyed witch's prostate, over and over and he bites down on Austria's neck, marking him as he goes over the edge and Austria screams his name, spilling his seed.

"So," Prussia asks after a while, barely able to continue standing. "Are you still going to die?"

"Maybe," Austria begins and Prussia's heart starts beating faster again, he wants to know the answer but he's afraid of what it is so he grabs the violet eyed witch's wrist tight, nails almost sinking into the soft alabaster skin. The brunette's eyebrow twitches as he clears his throat, continuing. "Just _maybe_, I can spend a couple more years with you."

Prussia looks at him hopefully, eyes shining brightly, then he scowls. "No can do," the albino shakes his head.

Austria stares at him.

"It's either an eternity, or nothing."

"We'll see."

"Stupid aristocrat."

**THE END**

* * *

**a/n: **i'm sorry if the ending's cliched OTL the OP wanted a happy ending and i obliged. um, hoped this clears everything up. anyway i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. **as usual, reviews will be lovely and will be greatly appreciated.**


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